


"...And Say Goodbye"

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Series: Lapse of Judgment [3]
Category: Law & Order
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1995-11-15
Updated: 1995-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt to get along, some more sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"...And Say Goodbye"

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to "Payback." Thanks to Ruth and Kenna for advice, encouragement, and beta-reading.

Detective Mike Logan wearily dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment, tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his collar. Another 14-hour day. The ballistics report on the Liu case had come back just before dinner and he'd spent all evening trying to trace the beretta. It was a quarter past 10 by the time he turned his key in the lock; it felt more like 5am.

He opened the door, tossed the ConEd bill onto the hall table, hung up his coat. Was just about to grab a beer and get comfortable when the buzzer rang. He looked through the peephole. Holy Mother of God. It was Jack McCoy.

Logan opened the door, stepped aside, surprised, annoyed, intrigued. Jack McCoy -- cutthroat Executive Assistant District Attorney, impulsive, obnoxious, enigmatic and obvious... and a superb fuck. Logan cursed silently.

He hated lawyers. Although deep down he recognized the need for them, he didn't respect them. It was cops who did all the dirty work. Cops who risked their lives in the name of justice. Then lawyers would step in with their elaborate arguments, making deals, accepting pleas, letting killers walk because of a technicality. Able to switch sides depending on how their case was going. That made them inherently untrustworthy in Logan's book.

And EADA Jack McCoy... McCoy was the worst of a bad breed. All that mattered to him was winning and losing. And in pursuit of the win, Logan wondered if Jack had any boundaries, any lines he would not cross.

All of which made their bizarre encounters all the more mystifying. What had begun as a monumental bluff on Logan's part (and McCoy's too, he guessed) had only mutated until he could no longer remember just what, exactly, the point had been. More troubling, he was actually getting to like McCoy. A lot. And he hated that.

It had all started at that damned gay bar. Not a place Mike usually visited but he had found himself in the area and needing a drink... Then he unexpectedly came face-to-face with Jack McCoy. A nightmare come true. But something had been clouding his judgment that night. Instead of beating a hasty retreat, he'd stayed, shared Jack's company, and -- the worst lapse of all -- let his physical attraction to Jack guide him into the one place he never should have gone: Jack's bedroom.

And, damn it to hell, the sex was wonderful. McCoy had obviously kept himself in check for far too long. Once unleashed he was an amazing lover. Those memories -- of Jack's warm, receptive body, lean, muscular, ready to be taken -- stirred Mike's blood even now, months later.

Looking back, perhaps he had made a tactical error. Stunned by the physical power Jack had over him, he'd come up with an effective strategy the morning after: back McCoy into a corner. McCoy reacted just as Mike had predicted -- and it wasn't until that moment that Mike realized he had really been interested in prolonging their encounter, in getting to know more about Jack.

It was this troubling realization that had motivated Logan to such unabashed cruelty in their next run-in, in the movie theater. He genuinely regretted that, was ashamed that he had vented his own confusion and frustration on McCoy who, after all, seemed to be sharing the same feelings.

So Mike vowed to leave it at that. Their games were getting out of hand. When he accepted Briscoe's invitation to dinner that last time, he told himself he could face Jack McCoy and not feel anything. Not shame, not guilt, not desire.

But McCoy proved him wrong, and they ended up back where they started: having great sex and thoroughly unable to talk to each other.

Now Jack was here, wanting -- wanting what? To talk? To intimidate? To seduce? Right now, Mike thought tiredly, he didn't want to be subjected to any of that... Well, maybe not.

Jack was standing in the hallway, hands in coat pockets, dressed in jeans and a bulky navy sweater. He surveyed his surroundings. Logan leaned against the wall. A thought occurred to him.

"You were waiting for me?" he asked, suspicious, incredulous.

McCoy shrugged. "Not really. I was in the neighborhood. I had a sudden urge to see you." He didn't make it sound like a pleasant urge. He also didn't make it sound believable.

"Gee, then I guess that makes this my lucky day," Mike said sarcastically, brushing past him and heading for the living room. He settled on the sofa, sitting back, pulled off his tie and cast it aside. He waited, knowing Jack wouldn't do anything sensible like leave.

Coat discarded, McCoy reappeared and came to stand in front of him, arms akimbo.

"I figured something out," he announced, looking down at Logan.

"What?" Mike asked, exaggerating his weariness, trying to sound like he didn't care to hear anything McCoy had to say.

"You're as afraid of me as I am of you," McCoy said quietly. "I don't know why I didn't see it sooner."

Mike made no outward reaction but inside he felt like he'd just been mowed down by a mack truck. What Jack said -- whether he meant it or was simply baiting him for another battle -- was uncomfortably close to the truth. A truth Mike wasn't ready to face.

He sighed heavily. "I suppose so."

A few seconds passed in silence. He wondered what Jack was waiting for.

Feeling too tired to fight any wars, he shrugged out of his jacket and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Look. Jack. It's not like I'm not having the thrill of a lifetime in your company or anything, but what are you _doing_ here?"

Silence. He listened to his watch ticking. When he opened his eyes Jack was standing in front of him, expression unreadable.

"We're at an impasse, you and I," he said. "An impossible situation, don't you agree?"

Mike gave a half-nod, a cautious yes. Jack was so close now, damn it. Mike didn't want to want him, didn't want to feel so powerless around him, so overwhelmed by his desire.

"I think we should do something about it," Jack was saying, face serious but body beckoning by its very closeness. Mike reached out, slipped his hands around McCoy's ass, caressing.

Jack stepped back, out of his reach. "That's not what I had in mind," he said sharply, face flushed.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Oh no? What did you have in mind?"

McCoy was frowning. "We should talk," he said. "Leave all the games aside and really talk."

Mike was silent, watching Jack in disbelief. Jack wanted to turn back the clock, pretend that whatever it was that forced them to this `impasse' could be erased by talk? He didn't see that it was impossible? All along, if one of them had wanted to change things, they could've. They didn't. They let the games go on.

Mike didn't have an explanation for it, and wasn't sure he wanted one. Something about Jack crawled into him, under his skin. Insinuating. Tantalizing. Even now, Mike wanted him so badly he could hardly breathe. Wanted to taste the dry sweetness of his skin, smell the subtle spice of his musk...

Mike looked away, unable to face Jack's stern, dark eyes. "There's nothing to talk about," he said quietly, voice dull. "We can't change who we are. Can't change what we do to each other..."

He waited for McCoy to move, to leave, but Jack just stood there, only a few feet away, saying nothing. Mike willed his hands to stay on the couch, willed himself not to reach out again.

After a while, McCoy said quietly, disgustedly, "I don't know why I bother."

Logan's eyes locked on his. Anger rose up, spilling into his voice as he grated, "Why you bother? I didn't ask you here, counselor, in case you've forgotten. You can leave the same way you came in."

Logan could see Jack's own anger flare in response. Directly proportional and strangely complementary. It ignited fires in Jack's eyes, reddened his cheeks, caused his stance to stiffen. Logan wanted to stand up, show him the door, but now he was frozen to the couch, trying to hide his erection by shifting his legs. His stare burned into Jack. 'This is you, this is what you do to me,' he felt like screaming at Jack.

Jack's eyes fell to his lap. Mike moved his legs again, painfully aware nothing he did camouflaged the hard bulge in his trousers. He waited for Jack's look of triumph, waited to see Jack gloat. Instead, Jack's eyes met his -- angrier than before, their fires blazing forth.

"You goddamned son-of-a-bitch," McCoy hissed at him. The words sinking into him, sinking through his skin, mixing with his blood, stirring his arousal. A hundred times more powerful than any drug, any stimulant. Mike reached out and grabbed Jack's hips, pulled him roughly to the couch. Pulled him down, onto his lap, Jack's legs sliding over his.

If Jack was trying to resist, it wasn't working. His body cooperated, molding around Mike's, already hot and hard with urgency. Jack placed his hands on Mike's shoulders, pushing him back. Mike yanked his hips forward. He pressed his erection against Jack's as Jack's lips descended upon his in a fierce, famished kiss.

Mike parted his lips for Jack's tongue, teeth scraping against it, drawing it further. His hands smoothing over Jack's hips, holding him tightly. Jack's kiss was ravenous, violent, his tongue fucking Mike's mouth. Mike moaned, his fingers reached for Jack's fly, anxious to undress him. Anxious to see his body, to feel it.

He ran his fingers under Jack's shirt, touching the smooth warm flesh of his belly, lifting his sweater. Jack ceased his assault on Mike's mouth long enough to pull his sweater off and throw it across the room. Hair mussed, expression wild, he stared down at Mike and began unbuttoning his shirt. Mike watched, breathing heavily, entranced.

McCoy let his shirt fall to the floor. Mike ran his hands over Jack's chest, around and under his shoulders, drawing him closer. He touched his lips to Jack's right nipple, licking the tiny nub to hardness. As he sucked on it, Jack tangled his fingers in Mike's hair. Toyed with the silky strands then yanked hard. In retaliation Mike bit down on Jack's nipple, eliciting a breathy groan.

Mike slid his hands into Jack's jeans, curving them over his buttocks, caressing warmly, squeezing the dense, smooth flesh. His lips trailed over Jack's chest to his left nipple, sucking gently. He heard, felt Jack's sharp intake of breath.

Jack's fingers tightened in his hair, then released. Smoothed down his neck, brushing the short bristle of hairs, and into his collar. Mike looked up, into Jack's eyes, as Jack unbuttoned his shirt, running his fingertips over Mike's chest as he drew it open. Mike's pulse beat steadily, his hunger now solid and aching.

Jack's hands traveled to Logan's fly, unzipped it with a sharp zrrrrp. Almost roughly, Jack buried a hand inside Mike's trousers, fumbling into his undershorts, and pulled his cock free. Mike bit his tongue, the hoarse moan catching in his throat. Jack's fingers were stroking his shaft, directing its movement, igniting its heat.

Past control, Logan jerked McCoy's jeans and underwear off his hips. Jack kicked off his shoes and slid off the sofa just long enough to strip them off completely. The sight of him naked and erect too much for Mike to bear. He ripped off his own clothes, wadded them up and flung them aside.

McCoy slithered back onto his lap, pressed their cocks together. Mike cried out wordlessly. The deep throb, delicious heat, of Jack's shaft resonating against his own. Jack shifted his hips, his cock stroking Mike's. Back and forth, up, down. With a soft snarl of tormented pleasure, Mike grabbed Jack's shoulders, kissed him roughly. Teeth biting, tongue plundering. Jack caught his tongue and bit back, causing a shiver of erotic excitement to ripple throughout Mike's skin.

Drawing back from the kiss, Mike lifted his hips a little. His cock searing against Jack's. McCoy captured both shafts in his hand and tugged on them, moaning softly. Mike flooded with heat, unable to take his eyes off Jack's face, seeing the pleasure so obvious, so open there as Jack's hand pulled on them both.

He glanced down, saw his cock and Jack's, both wine red from want, swollen, pressed together tightly in Jack's hand. Trickling pre-come glistening on both heads, mixing. The sight like a physical blow, knocking his breath away.

Mike slipped two fingers into his mouth and sucked on them. Watching Jack's hand slide down, slide up. Tearing his gaze away, he stared into Jack's eyes as he maneuvered his fingers to Jack's ass, plunged them inside. Jack shook from the onslaught, squeezed their cocks harder. Feeling the silken heat of Jack's body yield to him, then tighten, demanding more, Mike thrust his fingers in again. And again. Pumping, fucking Jack as Jack strangled their cocks in his hand, pulling wildly, madly.

A frenzy of motion. Jack rocked against him, over him. Mike writhed and arched to Jack's body. Buried his fingers deeper, rubbing swiftly and urgently. His cock pounding against Jack's, sharing its pulse, its volcanic heat. Then brimming. Mike emitted a low, guttural gasp as his cock surged with liquid fire, shot forth thick come. Losing awareness of everything but the constant motion of Jack's body against him.

As if far away, as if through a fog, Mike heard Jack raggedly moan. Then felt Jack's body shudder, felt his cock release, pour over his. Reverberating with his own orgasm, Mike's cock fountained again, emptying.

Mike slowly slid his fingers from Jack's body, caressed Jack's thighs as he sank into the sofa, spent. Jack collapsed against him, resting his forehead on Mike's shoulder, quaking, panting for breath. Mike closed his eyes. Forgetting everything -- the anger and confusion, the wars and stratagems -- but this moment: the stillness of his apartment, the scent of their sex surrounding him, and Jack in his arms, naked and beautiful in his delirium.

But eventually the moment passed. Jack moved stiffly, standing up and making his way to the bathroom without asking for directions. Mike heard him open the wrong door, stumble around, find it at last.

Left alone, Mike ran his hands through his hair and tried to think. Tried to make sense of it. Asked himself why they seemed to hate each other and why they couldn't keep their hands off each other. But if any answers were near, they dissolved in his mind when he heard McCoy's soft footfalls behind him.

He stood up, facing Jack, the sofa between them, aware he looked as awkward as he felt. Jack's expression was unreadable, impassive. His eyes calm, almost peaceful, but Logan couldn't judge by that. McCoy was a lawyer, a master at schooling his reactions.

While he watched, Jack came forward, bent down, picked up his underwear. Started to dress. Mike felt a pit form in his stomach. Startling himself, he said quietly, "You don't have to go. The bedroom's through there." He nodded at the bedroom door, which was open just a crack.

Jack's gaze followed the motion of his head. Jack paused in dressing and stared at the door. Mike watched him silently. After a long moment Jack's eyes met his. Still so goddamned mysterious.

Jack said, "You're asking me to stay?"

Mike resisted the urge to get impatient. He simply nodded ` yes.' Jack dropped the clothes he was holding and walked to the bedroom. Pushed the door open and disappeared inside. Logan felt an inexplicable panic rise up in him and headed for the bathroom. Suddenly needing to be alone. Suddenly needing to know why he'd just asked McCoy to stay when an hour ago all he wanted was for Jack to leave.

No answers. Holy Mother of God, there were never any answers. Mike cursed and slammed his hand against the sink. Let the coolness of the faux marble soothe him, ran some cold water and splashed it in his face. So he'd asked Jack to stay. So what. It didn't mean anything. Jack had let him stay at his place. It hadn't meant anything then, either. So he told himself, only half-convincingly.

He walked back through the apartment, paused to pick up his clothes, stood in the bedroom doorway. McCoy was sitting on the edge of the bed. Not relaxed, not awkward. Mike stared at him for a moment, wondering what to say.

At last McCoy spoke. "Which side of the bed do you sleep on?" he asked.

Taken off guard, Mike indicated the left side. McCoy moved to the right side and settled under the covers. Mike just watched him. Something too surreal... too domestic about it all. He deposited his crumpled clothes on a chair, switched off the light, and slid into bed.

\-----

Mike was not asleep. He told himself he should be, he tried to convince himself he was, but really he was just lying in the dark with his eyes closed. Listening to Jack's soft breathing. Though they were not touching, Mike was constantly aware of Jack's body next to him. Felt its warmth. Felt its motion. Felt the weight of it shaping his mattress.

He lay there for some interminable time -- an hour? two hours? -- taking stock of every soft sound, every minuscule movement, before finally drifting into a light doze.

Something woke Mike up. He blinked, saw the ceiling above. Pale grey light stretching across it. No, not the light. Something more urgent, more immediate... Something-- There it was again. Oh god...

Without tilting his head he glanced down. Saw Jack's hand rubbing between his legs. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at Jack, stretched out on his side, intent on his clandestine fondling. Jack cupped Mike's balls with his palm. Mike felt them lifted, heavy and swelling. His cock stretched and curved over his thigh. Jack touched it lightly, exploring its texture with his fingertips. Logan bit back his moan, continued watching as Jack stroked his prick to acute arousal.

Jack slid back, gaze steady, honed by lust. Mike reached for Jack's undershorts, peeled them off slowly. Jack's erection thick and red before him. Jack spread his legs, ran one along Mike's side. Mike's breath caught in his throat. Oh god, he wanted Jack so much, wanted him body and soul, and nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.

Mike sat up, leaned over to kiss Jack. A slow, lingering kiss edged with hunger. He opened the nightstand, fumbled for the small plastic tube, returned with gel oozing on his fingers. Jack sank a hand into Mike's hair as Mike's fingers teased his tight opening, slipping inside with smooth, circular motions, relaxing him. Jack's breath was steady, deep. His other hand skittered over Mike's cock, shaped around it to tug gently. With a low moan, Mike withdrew his fingers.

Mike held Jack's thighs, lifting them as his cock pressed inside. Jack locked his legs around Mike's hips and thrust up to welcome his entrance. Pulled along by Jack's intense desire, his own hunger, Mike plunged into him, filling him completely. So deep, oh god, so deep.

Jack's body surrounded him, moving, flowing. Such heat. Such passion. Mike's body fed from it, matched Jack's rhythm, driving into him faster and harder. Ecstasy building to a crescendo as Jack pulled on him, as Jack's hips crashed against his, meeting him with equal force.

Mike closed his hand around Jack's cock, throbbing, needy. Tugged on it firmly, squeezing the base, feeling it swell in his fingers. Jack moaned and shuddered as he came. His body still holding Mike's cock in thick, undulating heat.

Seeing, feeling Jack's release drove Mike over the edge. His cock pulsed deep within Jack's tight embrace, flooded forth his come in slow waves. Floating, intoxicated, Mike's body gradually slowed. He caressed Jack's legs as he lowered them. Brushed his fingers over Jack's belly, dabbling in his semen, as he withdrew.

The sheen of perspiration which covered Jack gleamed in the grey light. Jack took a ragged breath, touched his fingers to Mike's shoulder. On impulse, Mike kissed him. Slowly, tenderly, parting his lips for Jack's tongue, drawing it inside to drink from it delicately. A long kiss which only ended as Jack's fingers slipped from his shoulder, as Jack's breathing slowed. Mike drew back, drowsily watched Jack sink into slumber before succumbing himself.

\-----

An hour or so later Mike was awakened again by Jack's subtle yet determined touches. Spun to arousal until their bodies joined again in intense, euphoric union, giving and receiving in wild abandon. After, while still drifting in an orgasmic haze, neither slept though they both dozed. Mike swam in and out of awareness, listening to Jack's breathing, inhaling the rich musk of their sex.

The digital clock on the bed stand blinked 4:18 when Mike again felt Jack's fingers slide over his cock, seek out his balls. Shaking off his half-sleep, Mike smiled and kissed Jack's chest.

"What are you trying to do? Kill me?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Maybe," Jack whispered back, his smile audible.

Mike slid over him, cradled him in his arms. His lips brushed Jack's as he murmured, "If I go, I'm taking you with me."

Jack's body shook beneath him as he chuckled. "Then I hope rigor mortis sets in while you're still inside me, so I can die with a smile on my face."

Mike laughed and kissed him, everything suddenly feeling so natural and obvious. His lips stroked Jack's softly, parting them as his tongue slid forth to explore the enticing, velvety wetness of Jack's mouth.

Jack twined his fingers in Mike's hair and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Mike could feel Jack's heartbeat next to his, felt the warmth of their bodies permeate each other, felt his cock stiffen with want and nudge against Jack's.

He entered Jack again, this time moving slowly, gently, his cock caressing the silken-smooth heat of Jack's ass. Jack rocked beneath, around him, holding him in tender warmth. The perfect beauty of the moment seeming so fragile yet so eternal. And when he came, Jack reached climax with him, their bodies pouring forth, sharing the same languid shudders, the same drunken fog.

Mike slipped from Jack's body with a weary sigh and, too exhausted to move further, collapsed against him, resting his head on Jack's chest. Jack groaned a soft "oof" and ran a hand through Mike's hair, brushing it back from his forehead. Mike mumbled something incomprehensible in pleasure.

When his breath returned, Mike murmured, "That was... mmmpf... incredibly nice."

Jack was silent for a moment, toying with Mike's hair. He answered slowly, "Yeah, it was."

There was something in his voice that sounded a tiny alarm in Mike's consciousness. He tried to push it away, but it was too late. He lifted his head to look at Jack.

"What's wrong?"

Jack sighed, fingers still sliding through Mike's locks. He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it and shook his head. Mike just stared at him, waiting for the answer he was sure he was going to regret hearing.

"It's too bad we can't base a relationship on sex," Jack said quietly, fingers finally ceasing their in-depth exploration of Mike's hair.

"A relationship," Mike repeated slowly, then lowered his head again, to Jack's chest. Mind buzzing. A relationship. Now there was that word between them. What they had been seeking all along? Mike inwardly shook his head. It didn't matter because Jack had just said they couldn't have one...

Mike frowned, confusion mixing with anger mixing with fear. Fear? He paused, trying to name it. The response was brutally swift: this could be the last time he would ever hold Jack's body next to his, the last time he would ever see Jack's unfettered beauty as he came, the last time he would ever hear Jack's quiet sighs and moans of pleasure.

Mike looked up again, debating with his fear. "Listen, Jack... why can't we?"

Even in the gloomy, pre-dawn light, Mike could see the flare in Jack's eyes. "What?" Jack hissed.

"Think about it for a minute. Have either of us been successful at relationships? I don't think so. But the reason is simple -- our jobs. We pour so much of ourselves into our work, what's left over?"

Mike continued softly, speaking low and fast, "We don't have time for relationships. So I say, why push for one?"

Jack's voice was wary, skeptical. "And what's your solution?"

Mike smiled. "Why can't we just meet..." He kissed Jack gently. "...fuck..." Another kiss. "...and say goodbye." Kiss. "No complications. No trying to force ourselves into something impossible."

Jack narrowed his eyes in thought. "Isn't that all we've been doing so far?"

"Yes. And I think deep down we understand each other, don't you? Understand that this is what we need. What works."

Jack's eyes did not move from his. He was silent for a long moment, then gave a half-smile.

"Meet, fuck, and say goodbye, huh?"

Mike kissed him again as a 'yes.' Jack seemed to consider this carefully before laughing quietly.

"I have to admit, it's a simple plan..."

Mike settled back, head against Jack's shoulder.

"Sometimes simplicity works, counselor," he mumbled with a smile. Jack was stroking his hair again. Soothing. Lulling. Not meaning to, Mike drifted into sleep.

\-----

An angry screech woke Mike up. His alarm clock. He slammed it off and buried his face back into his pillow. But the damage was done, he was awake. He rolled over, body seeking the comfort of Jack's, found the bed empty. Mike sat up, scanning the room. With a mild, weary grunt he got out of bed and wandered into the living room. Jack was gone. His clothes were gone. The apartment door was closed but unlocked. Mike bolted it and returned to bed.

He sprawled out over the mattress, face down. Breathed in deeply, savoring the lingering aroma of their combined musk, catching a tantalizing hint of the clean, somewhat sandlewood scent of Jack's hair. Sighed as a gentle ache travelled his body as it remembered Jack's.

Then just as quickly as the subtle sadness had appeared, it was gone. Beyond all the impressions, all the facts surrounding him, Logan knew one thing with crystalline certainty: he would see Jack again.

Their paths would cross.

He knew it, was so sure of it, he was already looking forward to it.

(the end)


End file.
